


Homecoming

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Broken Bones, Electrocution, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Kidnapping, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim drags a reluctant Jason back to the family, Titans Tower au, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: His project queue updated with only one task.Jason is alivewas accepted (dubiously, but Tim’s brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders) and immediately translated tobring Jason home, thoroughly bypassing any common sense filters likeJason’s supposed to be deadandhe’s trying to kill me.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 249
Kudos: 1106
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi, what's that, another au of the Titans Tower scene and Jason's resurrection?

Tim always had several different projects running in the back of his head, it helped him focus and kept his mind whirring, and the cross-information between them helped spark new ideas and connect dots – it was how he’d had the realization that Bruce Wayne was Batman, and it was one of the reasons that he was such a good detective.

He was forced to add several new projects to the queue over the course of what was _supposed_ to be a quiet night in Titans Tower.

The security system needed to be updated.

He had to find his teammates.

Next time he was in Gotham, he needed to check for a possible resurgence of the Red Hood gang, or the threads of one of Joker’s plots.

He definitely had to get in some more practice in hand-to-hand because this was becoming acutely painful.

Also being ambidextrous was a good thing to know, especially since he was pretty sure that that was his right arm that had made that sickening crack.

He needed to order a new bo staff.

A slightly more pressing concern was the immediate problem of figuring out what the hell this guy wanted, because Tim was starting to think that this was personal.

Apparently the bulletproof weave on the Robin suit did _not_ hold up against gunshots at close range, which was a thing Tim could’ve happily gone his whole life without knowing.

The guy did not take kindly to Tim’s suggestion of anger management lessons, which Tim found unfair given the man’s very clear need, and – wait a second –

_What_ did he call Tim?

All his projects came to a screeching halt as Tim stared (squinted, because one of his eyes was swelling painfully and the hall was getting kind of fuzzy) at his opponent while he unlatched and removed the red helmet.

Dark hair, white streak, red domino mask – oh holy shit, either Tim had been hit harder in the head than he’d thought, or that was _Jason Todd_.

Older. Taller. Angrier. But Tim hadn’t spent three years obsessively stalking Robin to not instantly recognize the boy, even while maybe-concussed.

His project queue updated with only one task. _Jason is alive_ was accepted (dubiously, but Tim’s brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders) and immediately translated to _bring Jason home_ , thoroughly bypassing any common sense filters like _Jason’s supposed to be dead_ and _he’s trying to kill me_.

“What’s the matter, Replacement?” Jason sneered, looming above Tim – because Tim was on his hands and knees, because Jason had slammed a boot into his ribs, breaking a few and expelling all the air from his lungs as he crumpled – and flicking the knife in his hands, “You look like you’ve seen a _ghost_.”

Tim stared up at the boy – ghost – _enemy_ – Robin – and blinked. “Does Bruce know?” spilled from his mouth.

Bruce _had_ to know. This was his son. He’d buried him. He had to – maybe he never trusted Tim enough to tell him – where had Jason been all this time – there was a grave – but he was _Batman_ , he had to know.

Jason had gone eerily still. Tim swallowed, his throat dry.

And then Jason kicked his good arm, nearly snapping that one too and sending Tim to a painful collision with the floor – his chin banged _hard_ against the floor and the world wobbled as his headache swelled.

“Batman’s not coming to save you, Replacement.”

Which wasn’t an answer to his question.

(Tim hadn’t been hit hard enough to not be able to read between the lines, though.)

“Bruce is going to be so happy,” Tim said, hissing as he levered himself back up – Jason oh-so-considerately waited until Tim managed to push up onto his knees before he slammed the broken half of Tim’s staff into his jaw. Sparks burst across his vision, and Tim barely managed to strangle the scream as he accidentally landed on his broken arm.

“To know that you’re alive,” Tim continued, because _bring Jason home_ had pushed out every other task in his mind, including the one about not pissing off opponents that he was helpless to stop.

A boot landed on his throat, pressing _down_ , and Tim weakly pushed against it, choking out, “He misses you.”

“He got himself another black-haired blue-eyed boy to take my place before my body was cold!”

“It was six months,” Tim gasped, and the boot pressed further, digging into his windpipe ( _stop being pedantic_ , a part of his mind screamed). “He didn’t replace you.”

The boot shifted, the pressure lightening for a second, before it bore down on him with considerable weight – Tim choked, the room going hazy around him as his throat was forced closed, his lungs spasming as he fought for air, his fingernails clawing for purchase on the heavy-duty boots, the shrieking alarm that he was going to die, that this was going to kill him, that –

The boot disappeared.

Tim sucked in one sharp breath, and another, and –

Fingers tightened around his abused throat and hauled him upright, the grip digging into the underside of his jaw as he was forced to look Jason in the eyes. The mask was gone, and Jason’s eyes were flickering an eerie green.

Tim attempted to gain purchase on the ground with the one leg that didn’t explode into fire when he tried to move it, and Jason merely shifted his grip to raise him higher, until Tim wrapped his unbroken hand around Jason’s wrist and struggled to balance himself on one set of tiptoes.

The graze across his thigh _burned_ as he stretched, his muscles spasming and then cramping, another ache to add to his growing collection of injuries. “It’s my fault,” Tim whispered hoarsely, “I forced him to take me. I’m sorry.”

“You’re really not giving me any reasons to leave you alive,” Jason said flatly. He was twirling a knife in his free hand, and the motion of the blade was near hypnotizing.

“Bruce will want to see you,” Tim tried, “Please come back.”

“Batman didn’t give a flying fuck about me,” Jason snarled, his grip tightening, “I don’t know what fairytale universe you’re living in, but he thought I was a reckless, impulsive hothead who was one bad decision away from becoming a criminal. He thought I _killed_ someone!”

Tim didn’t know if his ears were ringing, or if Jason’s voice was actually that loud.

“Well,” Jason shrugged, “Turns out he was right about that part anyway.” The knife stopped twirling.

“Jason, please –” Tim tilted his head back, desperate for air, and fought the shriek as his broken leg brushed against the ground. “He missed you. He nearly – he nearly _destroyed_ himself after you died.”

“He didn’t care a rat’s ass about me –”

“He loved you so much that your death broke something inside of him,” Tim countered desperately, “He never stopped missing you for a _second_ , Jason –”

“He didn’t avenge me,” Jason said, so cold Tim felt his blood turn to ice. “He didn’t care enough to put the Joker in the ground.”

_He almost did_ , Tim didn’t say. _It would’ve been a matter of time if I hadn’t shown up_ , Tim didn’t say.

“Batman doesn’t kill,” Tim pointed out. The grip around his throat constricted, and Tim barely managed to claw in another breath. “If Batman kills, Batman _dies_ ,” Tim wheezed, “Is that what you want?”

Green eyes suddenly focused on him, and Tim felt like a mouse trapped in a staring contest with a cat.

“What?”

“If he killed the Joker,” Tim rasped, “He could never be Batman again. Is that what you want?”

Jason stared at him for a long moment before his eyes _pulsed_. That was not a normal reaction. (Tim was fairly certain normal human eyes weren’t supposed to change color.)

“I wanted him to avenge me!” Jason shouted, shaking Tim – and those were definitely broken ribs scraping against each other.

“You seem,” Tim coughed weakly, “Really hung up on that point.”

“What _else_ am I supposed to be hung up on, Replacement, after I woke up to see that my _murderer_ was still drawing breath?!”

“Coming home,” Tim choked, “Why don’t you want to come home?”

“I can’t come home,” Jason said icily, “Not until I prove to him that he’s _wrong_ and steal his city out from under his nose.”

“And who –” the room was starting to go blurry – “told you that?”

Jason actually loosened his grip in surprise. Tim’s weight slammed down onto his unbroken leg and he sucked in a sharp breath, wavering but managing to stay upright.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know,” Tim gestured weakly to the body armor, the guns, the knives, the shiny new helmet, “All your toys. Your grand plan. Who’s funding it?”

_Who brought you back from the dead_ was the real question, but Jason’s eyes were flickering a poisonous green, and Tim happened to know something _else_ that was poisonous green and coincidentally had the ability to heal mortal injuries.

Jason actually let go of Tim’s throat at that, tilting his head to one side as he observed him with detached interest. “Why do you care?” he asked finally.

“I just want you to _come home_ , Jason, and if someone’s stopping you –”

“She isn’t stopping me!” _Bingo_. “And it doesn’t matter, this is _my_ plan, not Talia’s –”

“Talia?” Tim said, injecting as much skepticism as he could into his voice when it lingered at a hoarse rasp, “As in, Talia al Ghul? As in, League of Assassins, Demon’s Daughter, _definitely a villain_ Talia al Ghul?” Jason’s eyes were beginning to flicker again and Tim swallowed, his breath catching in his throat. “Have you considered that maybe she doesn’t have your best interests at heart?”

In a blink, Jason’s knife was digging into Tim’s throat. Tim held his breath, keenly aware of the sharp point slicing into his skin.

“You know nothing about her,” Jason said, his tone frosty, “She helped me. She trained me. She took me in when _Batman_ threw me out.”

_You died_ , Tim wanted to scream. _Bruce didn’t kick you out_ , he wanted to yell. _Just come home you stubborn idiot_ , he wanted to screech.

Instead, Tim tried his best to arch an eyebrow and not wince as it tugged at purpling bruises. “And what does she get out of it?” Tim questioned. Jason stared at him like he’d suggested the sky was green. “Come on, Jason, you know how the world works. What does her _generosity_ buy her?”

_There_ – a flicker of doubt. That was all Tim needed. Suspicion was a slippery slope, especially with every emotion heightened by the Lazarus Pit. After all, the Pit didn’t create monsters, it just highlighted what was already there. And Jason was _Robin_ – he’d never been a monster.

(Six broken bones, two gunshot wounds, several bruises, and an aching throat begged to differ.)

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason said finally, his grip tightening on the knife, “All that matters is my revenge.”

“Revenge for _what_ , Jason?” Tim asked hoarsely, “Just – just come home, Bruce is going to be so happy to see that you’re alive, he –”

“Bruce replaced me,” Jason sneered, and there was a burn of fire as the blade slid a fraction into skin. “He doesn’t want me.”

“He _does_ , Jason, I swear,” Tim nearly begged, exhaustion weighting his limbs as he tried not to scream from the frustration, “I’ll do anything to prove it to you, Jason, _please_ –”

“Anything?” Jason asked, something dark dropping into his tone. He removed the blade from Tim’s neck, but Tim didn’t even have the chance to sigh in relief before it was digging into his cheekbone, right below the mask.

“Anything,” Tim replied, his voice soft.

“You’d let me maul your face?” Jason asked, green eyes pulsing as he traced the knife over Tim’s skin, “Scar you so deep that your perfect little high-society smile is ruined forever?” The knife was biting into Tim’s lips now, and his heart thudded in his chest as he held his breath. “Turn you into just another wannabe Rogue?”

Tim stayed very, _very_ still as Jason slowly, carefully outlined a Joker smile.

It was a choice that wasn’t a choice, like following Batman, like becoming Robin, like helping those in need.

“Yes.” Quiet, too high, shivering.

The knife paused.

“Take off your mask.”

Tim complied immediately, barely wincing at the sting as he pulled it off too fast, and met Jason’s gaze without a barrier for the very first time. The knife came back, sharp tip hovering at the edge of his vision, and Tim suppressed the urge to tremble.

“Maybe I’ll carve an _R_ in your cheek,” Jason mused, the serrated edge of the blade drawing across his skin as he traced out the letter. “For Robin. For _Replacement_.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he clenched his unbroken hand into a fist. He needed to stay still, or this was going to be ten times worse. He had to stay still. Even if Jason – he had to do this. If this was what it took to bring Jason back, then it was an acceptable sacrifice. 

“Open your eyes,” Jason snapped, and Tim blinked them open. He was definitely getting woozy from the blood loss, the hall was starting to waver around him. He took short, shallow breaths, waiting for the slice of the knife, waiting for it to start _burning_ , waiting for it –

Between one hitched breath and the next, the pressure behind his eyes broke, and wetness spilled over onto his cheeks. He tried not to think of how badly the salt water would burn in an open wound.

The pressure of the knife disappeared. Jason took a step back, and then another, his expression shifting to something that Tim couldn’t name – he could see disgust, fear, hate –

“You’re pathetic,” Jason said softly. And then he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Jason, wait –” Tim stumbled forward, his bad leg shrieking, and nearly threw himself at the other boy, catching the leather jacket before Jason turned and twisted, sending Tim crashing to the ground.

“Please come home,” Tim gasped out, grabbing Jason’s boot and ignoring the slice of agony as he tugged his broken arm up to curl his fingers into the laces. “Please, Jason, just _come home_ –”

“Let go of me!” Jason snarled, snapping his foot back – Tim choked as the boot slammed into his face, something crunching under the pressure and soon followed by a gush of warm and wet. He held onto the laces with all the strength he had left, disregarding the burn as Jason fought to get his boot free, dragging Tim forward a few inches.

And then Jason shifted back, the heel of his boot cracking down on his broken arm.

Tim _screamed_.

It was fire, it was bones grinding against each other, it was searing agony ripping sobs from his throat and turning his vision white, it was an inexorable pressure dragging him down as he writhed on the ground. Tim barely registered when the pressure eased, pulses of red-hot agony flushing through his arm and aching in his jaw as he tried to suppress the screams.

His fingers were entangled in knots, caught and twisted, and each one was gently tugged free, Tim’s grip pried off like they were unfurling a toddler’s fist. The world was flickering in and out, ragged sobs breaking the silence, and Tim could see a shadow straighten and walk away, a silhouette fading.

He knew that was bad. Thoughts strained and cracked under the agony, but he clung onto one of them with a desperate fervor – _bring Jason home_. Whatever it took. Whatever he had to do.

His body didn’t feel like his anymore. It felt like a puppet Tim was manipulating, forcing his less injured leg up, pushing off with his unbroken arm, ignoring the aches and throbbing pulses with exhausted detachment.

_Bring Jason home_.

Tim stumbled forward a step. The shadow was getting further and further away. “Jay,” he whispered, stretching out his hand, “Please.” The shadow didn’t stop. The shadow didn’t turn.

Another step, the fire coursing through him, jittering through his muscles and slicing through his nerves. He was too far away to catch him. The room was starting to get hazy, his visions narrowing to the back of a leather jacket and a red helmet.

“Robin,” Tim choked out, his voice cracking, _begging_ , “Please.”

He didn’t know if he was imagining it, or if the shadow actually flinched.

Another step, and the world wavered around him. He felt the jolt of pressure jerk through his knees as they hit the floor. He didn’t remember falling.

He did remember choking, coughing wet and weak as something shifted in his chest, and the vibrations of footsteps getting closer.

Everything went dark, and Tim drifted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect this to take as long as it did. In my defense, the original outline for the rest of this story was cannibalized by 'miss me?', and I couldn't figure out a new direction to take it. I did enjoy writing this more manipulative (and still self-sacrificial) Tim, and I finally came up with a new outline.

He woke up feeling like he’d been run over by a bus, which wasn’t as uncommon a feeling as the expression implied. The ceiling wavered from blurry white, gradually resolving into a too-bright fluorescent light and off-white tiles.

Tim groaned, and there was a flurry of movement, accompanied by a too-fast voice spitting words. Tim contemplated the ceiling, and his growing headache. “Bart,” he croaked out finally, “ _Slow_.”

“– sorry when did you get hurt did someone attack you why didn’t you wake one of us what happened should we call Batman should we call Superman should we call –”

“Bart,” Tim said again, “Give me ten seconds to wake up.”

“ _Sorry_ ,” the speedster repeated again, and vibrated in place as he waited for Tim to regain his bearings.

Right arm in a splint. Chest wrapped, aching with every breath. Fingers splinted. Bullet wounds stitched and dressed. Headache, sore throat, and a dawning sense of doom.

Typical Monday, then.

Tim catalogued his wounds again, and Bart spoke up, “You didn’t have to do it yourself you could’ve asked one of us you know.”

Tim froze. He passed the movement off as examining the edges of the bandage circling his thigh, but his heart was suddenly hammering against its cage.

The Red Hood. _Jason_. “Get me a tablet,” Tim rasped, “And coffee. _Now_.”

Bart zipped out of the room, and zipped back, handing Tim a tablet and a glass of water and ignoring Tim’s glare. Tim swiped through the tablet, checking the security features – all had been reset to normal, and there was no evidence of a hack on a surface sweep.

“Well?” Bart asked, “Kon and Cassie are patrolling but we didn’t see any evidence of a fight who was it?”

Tim started a secondary sweep, focusing on critical operations. Anywhere where sabotage would be life-threatening. It came back with no results.

Of course, if Jason wanted him dead, he’d be dead. All of them would be dead. Tim had passed out, his teammates had been sleeping, Jason had full control of the Tower’s operations, and instead he’d apparently dressed Tim’s wounds and given him painkillers.

Tim wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that his words had convinced Jason, not with remembered fury singeing him, but Jason had stopped attacking him. Had turned away. Had _left_.

_Bring Jason home_ pulsed at the top of his to-do list, blaring in neon letters.

“Gotham villain,” Tim said shortly, knowing it would enough for Bart to drop it, “I handled it.” Where would Jason go, after the fight? Tim needed to check the Batcomputer for any mention of the Red Hood.

To tell Bruce, or not tell Bruce?

Tim thought about it. About Jason’s green-edged temper. About Bruce’s standoffishness. About how furious the man would be if Tim kept it a secret.

“No need to inform the Justice League,” Tim said, running through another sweep.

Tim could handle some yelling and cold-shouldering. Bruce was not allowed near emotional situations, and Jason needed to be handled with tact and delicacy.

Of course, Tim wasn’t usually the person called upon for tact and delicacy – he could already hear Steph laughing at him – but too bad for Jason, because he started this thing by coming after Tim, and that was who he was going to get.

Jason Todd’s passcodes had been deleted from the system. Interesting.

“It’s no longer a threat.”

* * *

Searching the _Red Hood_ threw up no flags, but mentions of a red helmet and a red mask were tagged in the Batcomputer. Bruce had noted down rumors leaking from Crime Alley about a new drug lord and new rules, but it was Crime Alley – Tim knew that Bruce wouldn’t touch the place with a ten-foot pole unless a Rogue was holed up there. Which meant that Tim was free to investigate unhindered.

_Replacement_. It was pretty clear what Jason’s problem with him was, which meant that Tim couldn’t do this as Robin. Couldn’t risk the red-green-yellow setting off Jason’s anger again – with the Pit in his veins, every fleeting brush of emotion would be magnified, and a passing annoyance would turn to seething rage.

Tim would have to be as non-irritating as possible. (Steph was definitely laughing at him somewhere.)

Luckily, he had _plenty_ of practice stalking through Gotham as a civilian.

Tim had already been benched (which was infuriating, even though it was exactly what he wanted) and he understood the implicit order to not return to the Manor until his injuries were healed. And his dad had left on a trip god-knows-where, so Tim had free reign of the house. No one stopping him from shrugging on a shapeless hoodie to conceal his cast and heading out into Gotham.

‘Crime Alley’ was a nebulous place. It technically didn’t exist – it was a collection of blocks at the intersection of East End and the Bowery, originally a fancy neighborhood before a single mugger with a gun had changed that forever.

The Red Hood’s territory was Crime Alley, so Tim stopped before he got too close to the Bowery, and began hunting through alleys. If the Red Hood was a drug lord – and Tim would love to know the exact thought process that had led to that – then it stood to reason that Tim could get the best information by talking to some drug dealers.

There was only one problem with that.

For some reason, the dealers had suddenly discovered a conscience. Or had one terrified into them, but it made little difference when Tim was grumbling, indignant, in a dark alleyway.

“No ID, no business,” the man snapped, shuffling away from Tim.

“Come on, _seriously_?” Tim said, keeping his movements frantic and jagged, “I don’t have it on me! I’ll give you extra, just, please –”

“No ID, no business,” came the repetition.

Tim let real annoyance bleed through. “I just want to ask a question,” Tim pressed, “I’m not trying to buy anything!”

The dealer was darting nervous glances around them. Which was…strange. Tim definitely shouldn’t have been the intimidating one in this situation, but the guy was clearly terrified.

“No ID, no business,” the man repeated. Tim limped forward, and the man almost cracked his skull on the brick wall to back away from him.

Tim stilled. That was an extreme reaction.

The dealer shot another panicked glance around them, everywhere including up, before finally muttering, “Fuck this shit,” and fleeing.

Tim stared after him, bewildered.

* * *

The dealers were a dead end. Tim had brought a (fake) ID the next day, but word had clearly spread, and they melted away when he appeared. Tim was a bit annoyed – Dick loved pinching his cheeks, but he didn’t have _that_ much of a baby face, did he?

(Steph laughed so hard he hung up on her.)

Time to return to the basics.

Climbing up a fire escape was significantly more difficult with a broken arm and taped up ribs, but Tim managed with some judicious swears and kicking the dumpster closer to the ladder. The buildings here were close enough to each other that Tim could jump them with the ease of Robin training, though he stopped short of actually wearing the suit.

Jason’s problem was with the suit. Was with _Robin_. If Tim approached him without it, then maybe he could get Jason to stop and _listen_.

He could offer to give up Robin to get Jason back. Tim didn’t want to – what had originally been a prop to keep Batman alive had turned into the best three years of his life – but if it came down to it, Tim could always just take a new name and make his own gear. The Titans were still his.

Tim had brought along his camera, for old times’ sake, and he got some pretty nice views of the night skyline as he jumped from roof to roof. He hadn’t been to Crime Alley all that often, as Robin or before Robin, and it was a new perspective on the city he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

His last photo had a smudge of red.

Tim whipped back around, scanning the rooftops – there, across the street, leaning against the edge of the rooftop. Looking down, and not at him.

There was no way Tim could bridge that distance, not without a grapple, and by the time he clambered down and scaled _that_ building, Hood might be long gone.

“Jason!” Tim called out.

The red helmet snapped towards him.

Abruptly, Tim remembered that he was injured and weaponless. That Jason _hated_ him. That confronting someone hopped up on magical rage water was not one of Tim’s specialties.

The Red Hood considered him for a long moment, before walking away.

Tim sat down on the roof and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Shit,” he said out loud.

* * *

Jason was – Jason was _Robin_. Jason needed to come home. Jason was the reason Bruce was broken, and Tim had sworn to fix it, and the _perfect solution_ dropped into his lap because you couldn’t grieve a dead son if he came back to life, and –

Jason had attacked him. Had nearly killed him before something changed his mind.

_You’re being a baby,_ one part of his mind whispered.

_Would Dick hesitate?_ another part asked.

_Did you really want to help Bruce, or did you just want to force yourself into a family with an open place?_ and that one sounded a lot like Jason’s sneer.

_Replacement_.

He wasn’t. He _wasn’t._ He’d filled a job that needed to be filled. Batman needed a Robin, and Gotham needed Batman. Batman needed _Jason_ , and it was Tim’s job to make sure he got him.

Tim closed the tracking program he’d run through Crime Alley’s security cameras, and headed out again.

Jason had disappeared into one of two apartment buildings in the blindspot between an ATM camera and a store, and Tim glanced between both of them, chewing on his lip. Both had locked exterior doors. Both had easily accessible fire escapes. Both had no hint of a red helmet lurking nearby.

Breaking in through the windows was significantly more impolite than knocking on the front door, but Jason had left him no choice.

Tim passed six windows before he found one with a shock wire laced to the sill. Sucking on his tingling fingers, he quickly disabled the basic trap and slid the window open. He sent up a brief prayer that he wasn’t breaking into someone else’s apartment, and eased through the window.

The first thing he noticed was that it was barren. Either the apartment wasn’t in use or someone had recently moved out, because the living room and bedroom were void of furniture and personal touches. The bathroom had a razor on the sink, nothing else. The kitchen – the kitchen had a box on the counter, and Tim approached it warily.

It was probably a good idea to call this one in. There was a high probability that this set-up was deliberate, that Jason knew where the security cameras were, that the innocuous-looking box was a bomb.

But the apartment building was full of civilians. And Jason wouldn’t blow up a building of innocent people just to get at them.

Tim warily clicked open the latch. It immediately began hissing.

_Shit_.

Artificial, cloying sweetness, and Tim hadn’t brought all his gear, hadn’t dared, but a rebreather was nothing unusual for a Gothamite to carry, and he fit it on with the ease of years of practice. The box revealed no other concealed compartments, and there was a folded piece of paper inside.

_‘Curiosity killed the Bat.’_

Fear toxin was debilitating, but not permanently crippling. Not even close. Tim cast a wary glance around the room, but he could see no other traps. No cameras, no bugs, no red helmet sliding through the window.

Tim wasn’t sure why Jason was half-assedly trying to replicate the Rogues’ handbook, but he added _‘dramatic’_ onto the increasing list of things he knew about the Red Hood.

Things he knew about the Red Hood. Now _there_ was a place to start.

* * *

If Hood wanted to play hide-and-seek, Tim was happy to oblige.

Although this was more I’m-going-to-force-you-to-come-to-me than actual seeking, but rules had never been Tim’s strong point.

Tim just really hoped that rules were _Jason’s_ strong point, because otherwise this evening was going to be…unpleasant.

He fought the urge to tug down the hem of his hoodie, and smiled at anyone that glanced his way, looking up through his lashes whenever someone got close. There was a palpable unease over the street, and several of the working girls and guys were shooting him suspicious looks.

His arm brace had forced him to stick to the hoodie, but the short shorts made it look like he was wearing nothing else, and Tim knew he looked younger than he actually was with the hoodie dwarfing him. Kon had once called it _enhancing his delicate features_ , and Tim had retaliated by locking him out of his room.

Tim resisted the urge to shiver as a man blatantly leered at him, gaze lingering on the hem of his sweatshirt, and Tim kept smiling as the man crossed the street, eyes darkening with every step. Well, he hadn’t expected Jason to show up immediately, and sacrifices had to be made. He had a bottle of mouthwash waiting for him at home.

The man stopped three yards away from Tim, and visibly blanched. Tim followed his line of sight to see the red helmet – everyone on the street pressed against the walls to stay out of Hood’s path as he neared, boots cracking audibly against the pavement.

The man whimpered, and fled. Hood kept stalking closer.

Tim stopped smiling. Maybe this was a bad idea –

Hood grabbed his elbow – the bad arm – and dragged him into the closest alleyway before slamming him against the wall.

Oh yeah. Definitely a bad idea.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Hood snarled, low and vicious, one hand fisted into the front of his hoodie and keeping him pressed against the wall.

“Trying to find you,” Tim responded – apparently the wrong answer, because the fist shifted up, forcing Tim on his tiptoes to breathe.

“Trying to find _me_ ,” Hood repeated, voice harsh and distorted through his helmet, “You remember what happened the last time we faced off, Replacement? You _that_ eager for a rematch?” Hood’s other hand found the outline of the brace underneath the hoodie, and Tim couldn’t suppress the gasp when Hood slammed that against the wall too. “Not going to be much of a match, in my opinion.”

“I just want to talk,” Tim said, breathless, hoping that Hood wasn’t going to attack him. Tim couldn’t give Hood a fight, but _not_ fighting hadn’t worked out the last time.

“Talk,” Hood echoed incredulously, “What makes you think I want to listen to anything you say, Replacement?”

“Jason,” Tim started, and cut off into a wheezing, “Hood,” when Hood’s hand tightened around his brace. “Just – please come home. We can – work whatever it is – _o-out_ –”

“Work out whatever it is?” a chuckle cracked oddly through the distorter as Hood twisted Tim’s broken arm, “ _Whatever it is_ happens to be your bones in one piece, Replacement.”

Tim pressed his head back against the brick as he arched up, trying to relieve the pressure on the break. “We can work that out too,” he forced through clenched teeth.

“Always the martyr,” Hood snarled, “Oh, he must’ve been _thrilled_ when he found you. But I’m not playing your fucking game, Replacement.”

“It’s not a _game_ ,” Tim said, offended, but he was forced to cut off when Hood fully twisted his arm, driving him down into an awkward curl.

“Save me the self-sacrificial tendencies, kid, you’re not anything _special_ ,” Hood sneered, “I don’t give a fuck whether you live or die. You come after me again, and I’ll hit you where it hurts.”

Tim swallowed. “Hood,” he said slowly, but Hood didn’t let him speak.

“You have people you care about, right?” Hood asked, before continuing, “Of course you do, you’re a bleeding heart that thinks you’re the only real hero around.”

That – that wasn’t true. And Hood wasn’t – he couldn’t be – “You won’t attack civilians,” Tim said with more confidence than he felt. Jason wasn’t – he _wouldn’t_ –

“No,” Hood concurred, and Tim exhaled shakily, “But I can certainly break back into Titans Tower.”

Tim went cold.

“I’ll be sure to pick a night when you’re in Gotham,” Hood said icily, “I wonder, kid, how many of your little friends do I need to destroy before you realize that I’m not the good guy?”

“D-don’t –”

“That’s up to you, Replacement,” Hood said coldly, letting go of Tim with a harsh shove that sent him crashing to his knees. “If I see your face again, I’ll start leaving bodies at your door.”

Heavy boots stomped back out of the alley before Tim dared to lift his head. His knees were scraped and bleeding, his arm was a shrieking pulse of agony, and he felt sick to his stomach.

_Bring Jason home_.

At what cost?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for me to finish this, even as my outline sorta disappeared and I got distracted with other projects. I hope it's worth the wait!

The easy solution was to put the Tower on lockdown and confront Jason again. If Jason hadn’t been Bat-trained and League-trained, and perfectly capable of hunting down every member of the Titans in their homes just to prove to Tim that he could.

The problem with provoking Jason was that the Lazarus Pit thoroughly twisted up emotional control. If Jason got angry, he got _furious_ – paint-the-streets-red-with-blood kind of furious, and Tim didn’t have the kind of endurance he needed to weather that storm.

Playing it clever had just gotten him skinned knees. He needed to be _smarter_ – he needed a way to talk to Jason without breaking the ultimatum he’d laid down.

Tim contemplated talking to Bruce, and winced. Nope. That was the very last option on the table, because an angry Bruce and an angry Jason would probably set this whole city on fire. It was a good thing that Bruce had left on a ‘business trip’, because Batman and the Red Hood were going to run into each other sooner or later, and Tim would prefer that to be much, _much_ later.

Dick, maybe? Dick was a master of manipulating people’s emotions – Tim could go to Bludhaven for the weekend, get some tips, or maybe just confess. Dick would know what to do. Dick _had_ to know what to do.

Tim slumped further in his seat and contemplated his melting ice cream. The ice cream parlor near Robinson Park was as close as he dared to go to Crime Alley, and it was still afternoon – Tim could convincingly claim he was supposed to meet up with Steph if Hood ran into him.

The problem was that _bring Jason home_ and _don’t make Jason angry_ were mutually incompatible. Tim’s very _existence_ made Jason angry. As a civilian. As Robin. Jason didn’t care.

Tim poked his ice cream again. He could try Alvin Draper? But the disguise had never been designed to fool a _Bat_ , and the trick would possibly make Jason even angrier.

He was Robin. He was supposed to _fix_ things. And he couldn’t even reunite a father and his son?

Jason was right. He really was pathetic. A poor, substandard replacement.

Tim shuffled out of his seat and headed to the door, leaving the ice cream behind. What he needed was to clear his mind – too many facts, too much information, over-cluttering and catching in the gears, stalling him at every turn. He needed _Robin_ again, the bright clarity of a mission.

Tim contemplated the odds of managing to sneak the Robin costume out for a quick patrol. Nothing gained with nothing ventured –

Those footsteps were eerily in sync with his.

Tim turned right on the next corner, and the footsteps followed him.

He sped up, and so did the pattern of boots. Not anyone trained, they would never be this obvious – Tim glanced at the side mirror of a parked car, and made out dark colors and a solid build.

He’d been trained in evading pursuers, though admittedly those tips had been more designed to _Robin_ than _Tim_. If he got to the next block, he could mix with the people waiting for the bus and –

Someone stepped out from the alleyway right next to him, and Tim registered the sharp, chemical scent wafting off a rag right after he killed his instinctive urge to lash out in Robin-quick movements.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get a second chance. The rag pressed tight to his face, someone grabbed his arm brace, and the world roiled around him.

* * *

He woke up tied to a chair, hoodie off, a headache pulsing behind his eyes, and extremely annoyed.

Timothy Drake wasn’t usually in danger of kidnapping, but then he’d been placed in Bruce’s guardianship for a year, and people still thought they could get at the Wayne fortune through him.

Unfortunately for them, all they would be getting was a visit from a Bat. Or two. Or three, depending on how _not in the mood_ Bruce was.

“Wakey-wakey, kid,” one of the goons around him laughed, and Tim let out a mostly-feigned, definitely-annoyed groan, blinking several times and rolling his neck, like he was disoriented.

Three thugs. Abandoned warehouse, how cliché. Spindly chair that Tim could break with the proper application of force, duct tape wrapping his wrists and ankles to the chair. Judging by the dryness of his mouth and the darkness through the windows, it was already nighttime.

“Scared, kid?” another goon laughed – he was holding a taser. Another had a baseball bat. The last one was twirling a knife in his hands. Huh. Usually they didn’t start the torture until _after_ they delivered the ransom demand. “Hood’s not here to save you now.”

… _What_.

“Your friend’s been shaking up Crime Alley,” Baseball Bat said, stepping closer, “Stepping on toes. Breaking kneecaps.”

“Cutting off heads,” Knife said under his breath.

“And, well, we don’t really care about the big stuff,” Baseball Bat shrugged, crouching in front of Tim, “Let the drug lords fight it out amongst themselves, as long as we still get paid. Our problem is that Hood thinks he can _rule_ the Alley.”

“Him and his fucking rules,” Taser growled, “Can’t sell to kids, can’t talk to whores, can’t, can’t, _can’t_.”

“He thinks he’s some kind of fucking cop,” Knife muttered.

“It’s called _Crime_ Alley, kid, not Morally Dubious Alley,” Baseball Bat said, chuckling at his own substandard joke.

There was a stretching silence, and Tim dared to open his mouth, “I don’t know – I don’t understand – why am I here?”

“Information,” Taser said, flicking the weapon on and off, “Everything and anything you know about Hood. The easy way or the hard way, kid.”

What. _What_. So he _hadn’t_ been kidnapped for ransom?

“I – I don’t know anything about Hood,” Tim said, keeping his voice tremulous, “I –”

“Cut the shit, kid, we know you’re friends,” Taser snarled, “You spent the whole week searching for him.”

Tim…hadn’t considered the ramifications of trying to hunt down Hood in his civilian form. This was bad. This was very bad.

Robin could get out of these bonds and take out these goons without breaking a sweat, injured or not. But Tim wasn’t Robin right now.

Timothy Drake would be rescued by Batman as soon as a ransom call was made. But he _wasn’t Timothy Drake right now_.

And the only person that might get a clue that he was in trouble had threatened to murder all his friends if he ever saw Tim’s face again.

Tim swallowed, “I don’t know anything.”

Baseball Bat smiled. “Well, we’ll just have to jog your memory then.”

* * *

“ _S-stop_ ,” Tim cut off as his muscles seized, fire searing through his veins, barely managing to avoid biting down on his tongue. It was getting easier and easier to draw up the scared, panicking kid they were looking for.

His dad wasn’t home.

He wasn’t allowed on patrol.

He’d made no plans with anyone else.

_No one was looking for him_.

“What’s Hood’s real name?” Baseball Bat asked – Tim had screamed for the first time when it had crashed against his arm brace, now faded to a dull throbbing – considerately waiting until Tim had stopped heaving for breath.

“D-don’t know, _please_ –”

The taser sizzled again, and his chest _shrieked_ as muscles contracted painfully against cracked ribs.

“Where does he live?”

“Please, I’m _sorry_ , I don’t know anything –”

Taser stepped back, and Knife lashed out with a punch, landing square in Tim’s ribs and drawing an automatic wail.

Bruce – Bruce had always said that their lives were more important than their identities. That if the only solution to his situation was revealing that he was Robin, then to just _do it_.

Tim could’ve broken through the tape, broken the chair, and taken down the three thugs.

Before they’d started torturing him.

Before Tim started desperately gasping for every breath he could snatch.

Before blood dripped tackily down his face and his fingers shivered with the grip strength of a newborn kitten and every muscle in his body trembled in aftershocks and Tim – Tim didn’t know what to do, no one was coming, he would just keep stalling until he _died_ – because he couldn’t give up Red Hood, he couldn’t give up _Jason_ , and he’d poked his nose into a hornets’ nest without considering the consequences.

“Come on, kid,” Baseball Bat said quietly, “Don’t make this harder on yourself.” When Tim didn’t answer, he sighed. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure, “Hood will never find out we got the information from you.”

Given the _extremely_ short list of people that knew that the Red Hood was Jason Todd, Tim very much doubted that.

“Won’t he?” a distorted voice called out.

It was comical, how quickly the three thugs whipped their heads up to the rafters. Tim didn’t look up – he could barely keep his head up as it was, and the constant trembling wasn’t helping the cramps or the exhaustion.

“If you guys wanted information on me,” the voice got closer, a dull _thud_ vibrating through the ground as boots touched down on the warehouse floor, “You just had to _ask_.”

“H-Hood,” Taser tried to swallow, “We – we weren’t –”

Baseball Bat had marginally more brains. “We were just making sure that – that there wasn’t a leak. It was – it was just a test –”

“Aww,” Hood crooned, booted footsteps getting closer, “That’s real sweet of you. I appreciate the concern.” The footsteps stopped, right behind Tim, “You guys remember rule numero uno, right?”

Silence. Tim could hear the soft squeak of boots shifting against the warehouse floor.

Hood’s voice was a furious growl, “ _Don’t touch kids._ ”

Knife made a break for it first, sprinting for the warehouse door. Baseball Bat drew his gun. Taser raised his hands in surrender.

The gunshots _crack_ ed in Tim’s ears – _bang bang bang bang bang_ – and Tim saw three bodies drop to the ground. Spreading pools of red. Strangled gurgles dying to complete, utter silence.

Footsteps curved around the chair Tim was tied to, and the red helmet stared dispassionately at him. Tim stared back, unable to move, unable to fight, unable to do _anything_ except take whatever Hood would dish out.

Hood growled again, and Tim flinched as gloved hands came closer. “You little shit,” Hood snarled, “If you got yourself kidnapped on fucking _purpose_ , I swear –”

“N-no,” Tim forced out, tongue numb and mouth dry – _no_ , he – he had to warn the Titans or – or something – everything _ached_ – the tape around his wrists came off with a harsh yank and Tim nearly spilled out of the chair when his bonds were removed.

“You expect me to believe that?” was the low, furious response, catching hold of Tim’s shoulder to prevent him from faceplanting and dragging him back upright in the chair. “You dared me to carve letters into your skin, and yet _this_ is where you drew the fucking line?”

Light shining in his eyes, too-bright, and Tim weakly tried to bat Hood’s hands away as they pried open his eyelids.

“Congratulations,” Hood snapped, “Your colossal stupidity isn’t due to a concussion.” The light clicked off and Tim squinted through the spots to see Hood step back, fists opening and closing like he desperately wanted to punch something.

Tim – Tim needed to tell him that this wasn’t on purpose. That he hadn’t tried to break Hood’s ultimatum (not yet, anyway). That – that he was _sorry_ , please don’t go after the Titans, Jason, _please_ –

“Okay,” Hood exhaled noisily, “I give up. I’d warn you that you’re just going to get yourself killed, but I wouldn’t put it past you to find a way to haunt me. You wanted to talk? Let’s talk.”

Tim…Tim did want to talk. He – he had a plan. He – he needed to appeal to Jason’s happy memories, to explain how much Bruce had missed him, how much _everyone_ had missed him. Dick’s quiet stories and Bruce’s lost expressions and Alfred’s silent tears and the way Commissioner Gordon had taken a deep, sorrowful breath the first time Tim had shown up in the Robin suit and Babs’ slow, painful recollections of a boy with too much brightness for this world and – and _everything_ , there was so much to say, so much he needed to voice to bring Jason back.

He could barely form a single word. His head was _killing_ him, every breath felt like he was dragging his lungs across broken glass, he couldn’t stop _shaking_ , and he – he just –

“Please,” Tim whispered, and Hood made an impatient sound. His heart was sinking, his stomach was sinking, _everything_ was sinking because he was too heavy.

This was his _chance_.

This was his chance and Tim – Tim was too tired, too cold, there was too much pain, he tried to collect his shattered thoughts but they spilled through his fingers like sand. All he could think about was –

“W-want to go _h-home_.”

It hurt. Everything hurt. He just wanted his own bed, he wanted to curl up and be _safe_ – this was his chance and _he couldn’t take it_ and Tim let out a soft gasp as the tears spilled over.

Jason. Jason was right in front of him. Jason was _listening_ , and Tim couldn’t – he couldn’t even _try_ – he needed to fix it but he couldn’t think properly and Hood was getting closer and everything was blurry and –

“Replacement?” Hood asked, a gloved hand soft against his cheek, and Tim broke.

“Please,” and his voice cracked, “I – I just want to go _home_ – please –”

He couldn’t navigate a conversation with Jason right now. Not without making everything worse. And it _burned_ inside of him – this was a chance Tim didn’t know if he’d ever get again, and he had to throw it away because he was too weak, because _bring Jason home_ had been temporarily superseded by the blaring letters of _HOME_.

Hood cursed, low and furious, and Tim squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see it, see whatever Jason was planning. Tears kept leaking out as he shuddered, unable to lift his arms, unable to stop Hood from scooping him out of the chair like a ragdoll.

“Okay,” Hood said quietly, “Okay. I’ll take you home.”

* * *

The ride was silent, nothing apart from the roar of the motorcycle and the muffled whistle of wind through the helmet Jason had jammed on Tim’s head. Tim was sitting awkwardly, practically in Jason’s lap because Jason had come to the (correct) conclusion that Tim wouldn’t be able to hold on, and Tim’s arms were loosely curled between them as he rested his head against Jason’s shoulder, the simple harness around his waist attached to Jason’s belt.

He didn’t even know if Jason really _was_ taking him home, but the trembling had stopped and lethargy had set in, and Jason’s arms on either side of him were the only things keeping him semi-upright.

Tim stirred to alertness when he heard a familiar keypad. Jason wasn’t – wait, he wasn’t _actually_ –

The darkness of the night sky cut out to the dimly lit tunnel, and Tim blinked, registering the smooth stone walls passing them, and unable to _believe_ it.

But Jason parked in the bay and unhooked Tim from the harness and unlatched the helmet and – and this was the Cave. That was the Batcomputer, station dark, and the gym, and Jason was carrying him past the trophy cases, and that was the medbay, and Tim was being set down on a cot, and he was suddenly horizontal.

“Broken ribs, the cuts on your arm, electrocution – am I missing anything else?” and that was _Jason’s_ voice, he’d taken the helmet off, and Tim squinted to see him rummaging through the medbay cupboards with an ease that suggested that he knew that Batman was out of town.

“No,” Tim exhaled, and Jason came back with a needle, his face pinched, and Tim relaxed as numbness stole through him. His eyes drifted shut again, and he barely registered the sensation of cold as Jason cleaned and wrapped the cuts, or the dabbing wetness on his face as Jason wiped away the dried blood, or the pressure as Jason wrapped his ribs. His arm brace was removed and re-strapped, and Tim made a soft murmur of protest as Jason exchanged his sweat-soaked clothes for a fresh shirt and sweatpants.

“There,” Jason growled when he was done, “I hope you learned a lesson on doing monumentally stupid things to attract the attention of drug lords.”

“Wasn’t on purpose,” Tim mumbled, tears leaking out again, because he _hadn’t_ , he didn’t want Jason to think that he’d deliberately set out to engineer a situation to manipulate Jason into saving him.

Even if it had worked really, _really_ well.

“Well, I hoped you learned a lesson about hanging around Crime Alley, then,” Jason grumbled, discarding the used wipes and – was he walking away? Was he _leaving_?

“No,” Tim gasped, rolling to the edge of the cot and stretching a hand out to the leather jacket-clad figure, “No, Jason –”

“I said I’d take you home, kid –”

“Jason, _please_ –” the world was blurring again, and Tim tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Replacement, this is the fucking _Batcave_. Nothing is going to get you here.”

“ _Jason_ ,” Tim’s voice cracked again, and there was another loud curse before fingers wrapped around his.

“Fine,” Jason snapped, sounding distinctly displeased – but not murderous, so the emotion was clearly an affectation – and hopped up onto the edge of the bed. “I’ll keep the imaginary monsters away, Replacement, now go the fuck to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Tim croaked out, pillowing his head against Jason’s thigh and letting his eyes flutter shut as fingers slowly carded through his hair.

_Bring Jason home_.

And here he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are panic buttons attached to the medbay cots, ones designed to send out alerts to Bruce’s phone. Tim knows this. Tim is peacefully asleep, the barest shadow of a smile on his face, when the zeta activates to a frantic Bruce and Alfred. An out-of-breath Nightwing screeches into the Cave ten minutes later.
> 
> Jason, stuck to the cot with a sleeping, injured teenager in his lap, has the distinct feeling that he got played. He can’t even shout without waking the Replacement up. Jason is Not Happy.


End file.
